Claudia's Big Break

Lisa Heidke studied journalism at Queensland University, fled Brisbane and settled in Sydney where she landed a job as an Acquisitions Editor in book publishing (HBJ). After a while there, she headed to ACP where she worked as a feature writer on several national magazines, including
Practical Parenting
and
Bride to Be
. After many years living in Sydney's inner west, Lisa woke up one morning to find herself married with three children and living on the North Shore (much to her surprise and sometimes horror). Read more at:

www.lisaheidke.com

Also by Lisa Heidke
Lucy Springer Gets Even
What Kate Did Next

     
LISA

HEIDKE

First published in 2011

Copyright © Lisa Heidke 2011

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without prior permission in writing from the publisher. The Australian
Copyright Act 1968
(the Act) allows a maximum of one chapter or 10 per cent of this book, whichever is the greater, to be photocopied by any educational institution for its educational purposes provided that the educational institution (or body that administers it) has given a remuneration notice to Copyright Agency Limited (CAL) under the Act.

Arena Books, an imprint of
Allen & Unwin
83 Alexander Street
Crows Nest NSW 2065
Australia

A Cataloguing-in-Publication entry is available
from the National Library of Australia
www.trove.nla.gov.au

ISBN 978 1 74237 491 8

Set in 12.5/16.8 pt Granjon by Bookhouse, Sydney
Printed and bound in Australia by Griffin Press

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

To my dad, brother and godson,
Doug, Craig and Kurt

Contents

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2

3

4

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7

8

9

10

11

12

13

14

15

16

17

18

19

20

21

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30

Acknowledgements

1

I
called Sophie and Tara. My place, 7 pm sharp! Not such a stretch for Tara — we live together and she normally arrives home from work around then. But Sophie has a three-year-old son and hesitated for a moment.

‘What's so important we have to meet up tonight?' she asked.

‘It's a surprise. Come on. Your babysitter is a fifteen-year-old girl with an expensive Diva habit to support. She's always available to mind Levi.'

‘I guess,' Sophie replied before agreeing.

I had it all planned. The
Mamma Mia
DVD playing on television, taramosalata, dolmades and olives for starters, then steaming calamari, moussaka and Greek salad for mains. Ouzo, wine. Nothing was left to chance. I'd even placed a bottle of Hawaiian Tropic on the dining table as a not so subtle reminder of our last holiday together. But the pièce de resistance? A photo of the three of us taken at a Polynesian theme night on said holiday! Ah, the memories.

I gazed at the photo of Sophie, Tara and I, flanked by two strapping Hawaiian dancers in traditional costume. We looked so young. Sophie, with her beaming pixie face and masses of curly hair, was looking off to the side; from memory, at a gyrating Elvis (circa 1962) impersonator. Tara was front and centre, holding her wineglass and shouting, ‘Cheers!', her eyes as wide as saucers. And then there was me, leaning forward and laughing so hard I was almost falling over, despite having my arm wrapped tightly around a gorgeous Hawaiian. It was one of my all-time favourite photos. It didn't hurt that my hair, as dark as Sophie's is blonde, had a carefree wave, and my freckles, usually prominent, seemed to have been airbrushed out. My pale skin was slightly tanned and, thanks to the stilettos I had been wearing, I appeared tall.

‘What gives with all the Greek stuff?' asked Tara after I'd poured us all a glass of wine.

‘Guess?'

‘You're opening a Greek restaurant!' said Sophie.

‘Not quite.' I sipped my wine, pausing for dramatic effect. ‘I'm off to Santorini . . .'

‘Lucky you,' said Tara. ‘Way to rub it in!'

‘It would be if I was going alone, but I want you guys to come with me.'

They both squealed.

‘You're kidding,' said Tara.

‘I can't just up and leave,' said Sophie.

‘Why not? Bring Levi. He'll love it. It'll be like old times.' Old times like when the three of us jetted off to Hawaii ten years ago. I picked up the bottle of Hawaiian Tropic and popped the lid. ‘Smell that and tell me you can't escape for a couple of weeks.'

We all sniffed the oil and giggled.

‘Come on. Let's get sunburnt, outrageously drunk in Greek bars and cut loose for two weeks.' I almost had them. ‘Please! I can't go without my besties!'

Tara and Sophie were my best friends, but over the past few years, what with us each pursuing different paths, we hadn't spent as much time together as we used to. Although I was sharing Tara's house, we were like ships passing in the night. I wouldn't go so far as to say we were drifting apart but we weren't drifting together either. And in the last six months I'd probably seen Sophie five times. I missed my friends, missed our sleepovers when we'd talk into the early hours of the morning, sharing secrets, dreams and ambitions. I wanted to recapture that time, that enthusiasm, that deep friendship.

‘Why Santorini?' said Tara, picking up the photo and examining it. ‘We were so young.'

‘Weren't we. Why Santorini? Because I've got a tiny bit of work to do in Athens and, as a bonus, Marcus — my boss — is paying for a further two weeks of accommodation on Santorini.'

‘Lucky you,' said Tara again.

‘And lucky you, too. With the accommodation taken care of, all you two have to cough up for is the airfare. You're always saying we should take another holiday together.'

‘I was talking about a weekend in Melbourne,' said Sophie.

‘Or Byron Bay,' Tara chimed in.

‘Byron, Santorini . . . Come on, guys, what's the problem?'

‘I've got deadlines,' said Tara.

‘But when was the last time you took a holiday?'

Tara rolled her eyes.

‘I'll tell you. Three years ago. You give your all to that magazine. Besides, didn't you say that you'd had enough of Melinda?' Melinda being Tara's maniacal boss. ‘Especially after the bomb shelter incident?'

‘What?' Sophie said.

Tara waved her hand. ‘It was nothing. Just another editorial meeting in which Melinda started canvassing story ideas in five words or less and then exploded —'

I laughed. ‘Because you goaded her.'

‘All I said was, “Boho mod meets urban disintegration.”'

‘And?' said Sophie.

‘Melinda spat back with, “A bit 2010 don't you think?” So I responded with, “Countdown to chic: Creating a formidable home weapons arsenal that's practical as well as stylish.”' Tara shook her head. ‘On second thoughts, maybe the timing is perfect.'

‘Melinda didn't get the joke, huh?' Sophie laughed as she sipped her wine. ‘Has it really been a decade since we went to Hawaii?'

I nodded. ‘Yep. It was just after you met Alex.'

‘And you made us watch all of those Hawaiian
Brady Bunch
episodes,' said Tara.

‘The curse of the Tiki!' Sophie squealed.

‘Mike's and Greg's frizzy perms,' I said, laughing at the memory.

‘I was terrified about parasailing,' said Sophie.

‘But you did it,' said Tara. ‘The pineapples, leis, Elvis . . . It was great.'

‘The best,' agreed Sophie. ‘But we were younger then. Won't I cramp your style, being the only married one and taking Levi as well?'

‘Nonsense,' I said. ‘I have very little style so there's absolutely nothing to cramp. What do you say?'

‘A break would be nice,' said Tara.

‘Especially in Santorini,' added Sophie.

‘So we're all agreed?'

We clinked glasses and danced around the living room, singing
Dancing Queen
and sloshing wine. The deal was sealed. Ten days from now we'd be flying off on a holiday of a lifetime.